painting on a curtain, to have its configuration fixed in her mind,
to know that it was on the beach at its end furthest from Belarab's
stockade.

"The brushwood is catching," murmured Lingard in her ear. "If they had
some dry grass the whole pile would be blazing by now."

"And this means. . . ."

"It means that the news has spread. And it is before Tengga's enclosure
on his end of the beach. That's where all the brains of the Settlement
are. It means talk and excitement and plenty of crafty words. Tengga's
fire! I tell you, Mrs. Travers, that before half an hour has passed
Daman will be there to make friends with the fat Tengga, who is ready to
say to him, 'I told you so'."

"I see," murmured Mrs. Travers. Lingard drew her gently to the rail.

"And now look over there at the other end of the beach where the shadows
are heaviest. That is Belarab's fort, his houses, his treasure, his
dependents. That's where the strength of the Settlement is. I kept it
up. I made it last. But what is it now? It's like a weapon in the hand
of a dead man. And yet it's all we have to look to, if indeed there is
still time. I swear to you I wouldn't dare land them in daylight for
fear they should be slaughtered on the beach."

"There is no time to lose," whispered Mrs. Travers, and Lingard, too,
spoke very low.

"No, not if I, too, am to keep what is my right. It's you who have said
it."

"Yes, I have said it," she whispered, without lifting her head. Lingard
made a brusque movement at her elbow and bent his head close to her
shoulder.

"And I who mistrusted you! Like Arabs do to their great men, I ought to
kiss the hem of your robe in repentance for having doubted the greatness
of your heart."

"Oh! my heart!" said Mrs. Travers, lightly, still gazing at the fire,
which had suddenly shot up to a tall blaze. "I can assure you it has
been of very little account in the world." She paused for a moment to
steady her voice, then said, firmly, "Let's get this over."

"To tell you the truth the boat has been ready for some time."

"Well, then. . . ."

"Mrs. Travers," said Lingard with an effort, "they are people of your
own kind." And suddenly he burst out: "I cannot take them ashore bound
hand and foot."

"Mr. d'Alcacer knows. You will find him ready. Ever since the beginning
he has been prepared for whatever might happen."

"He is a man," said Lingard with conviction. "But it's of the other that
I am thinking."

"Ah, the ot